


in our bedroom after the war

by portraitofire



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Five Years Later, How Do I Tag, Hurts So Good, I Don't Even Know, I'm Sorry, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Sad and Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:35:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21809644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/portraitofire/pseuds/portraitofire
Summary: Five dreary years after his glorious days as a student, Grantaire has found himself in the laborious routine of a modern day Parisian trying to make ends meet. His dreamy school days, and friends, are all a haze of the past . . . until he suddenly spots an old friend in a line for the morning train.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	in our bedroom after the war

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time writing enjoltaire, be nice please i'm sensitive. 🥺 also i'm fully aware this sucks and i could probably do better but depending on how this goes i might write something else, (a happier pre-cursor to this? i have 0 ideas help) maybe??
> 
> regardless i hope you like it!

It was eight in the morning and Grantaire was cranky.   
Raindrops fell in a haze around him, thudding against his umbrella and finding their way onto the sleek, cold pavement. His worn-out shoes had cracks on the bottom and with every step he took, he felt his socks get wetter. There was little else more uncomfortable than the sensation of having wet feet, particularly on a gray Saturday such as the likes of this.   
He wrapped his arms around his midsection and shouldered his way through a crowd of students, muttering his apologies with a mixture of “excusez-moi”. He barely glanced at their faces, knowing already what he would see there. Eyes aglow, shoulders squared, ready to take on the new world set before them. They were independent at last and loving every second of it. _Enjoy it while it lasts_ , Grantaire wanted to say. _Soon enough it will all be over and you’ll find yourself working a nine-to-five desk job to get the bills paid._  
Reaching down for his phone, he changed the song selection to one he was more familiar with. The music droned in his ears, marginally muting the sounds of city life around him: people’s voices, tires screaming, honks and car door slams.   
With slow, tired limbs he paused to get his regular coffee at Moe’s. It was warmer inside, the hardwood floor firm and dry beneath his leaking shoes. He was at the back of a lengthy line; longer than normal, for sure. He would certainly find it difficult to make it to work on time, he mused grumpily to himself. That’s what he got for spending an extra five minutes this morning clearing out his fridge of the rubble it had compiled.  
His gaze wandered aimlessly to the world of wet and cold outside. It was then that his gaze fell upon the line for the morning train, that he saw his face.  
Austere and calm as always. Slightly rumpled, as though he’d just woken, but all the same he still had a Grecian God-like quality to him. There were shadows under his eyes and a sleep line across the left side of his face. A coat gripped his noble, sloping shoulders and fell in an elegant torrent down his back.   
There was no mistaking it.   
Enjolras.  
Almost immediately, Grantaire looked away, as if he had been smacked. As if he could not possibly bear to look for longer than a lingering millisecond. But, he did not fight when his gaze automatically drew itself back to him.   
Yes, it was him all right. Without the sun’s light, his curls appeared almost gray, as if they’d been bleached of the sandy golden hue. He seemed tired. But altogether, not that different. A couple years older, maybe, but that was expected.  
How long had it been now? Four years? No, five. Roughly.  
Grantaire watched, chest tightening, as a tourist asked him for directions. His gentle, angular fingers traced a line on a map. His voice was obviously swallowed up in the distance and the chaos, and Grantaire was only afforded the sight of him, but he could practically hear the gentle, stern tone of his voice. 'Simply take this left onto Ladurée, and take the second right. Understand?'  
Grantaire looked away, blinking as the train came screeching calmly into view. Right on time but it felt far too early.  
He could still clearly recall their days together as students, living together on 42nd Street, frequenting the dingy café down the street. The morning sun that gave their room a golden hue as though they'd woken in heaven itself. Their discussions with Enjolras' law friends around an emptied box of pizza, sipping wine or heavier spirits. Grantaire was always the first to get drunk and accidentally break something. Their riots at twelve am with the others, clustered on the roof of the university, yelling to the stars and rooftops of Paris their revolutionary ideas. Their frustrations. Their dreams. And the stars had swallowed it all up.   
Swallowing, Grantaire turned silently to face the front.  
It was his turn.  
“Long macchiato, with a shot of espresso, please.”  
When he turned back, the train and its occupants were gone.  
It had swept them away as if they had never been standing there in the rain at all. It had been just a hazy dream, he concluded to himself, although he knew perfectly well it had not been.   
A pinprick of curiosity wormed itself into Grantaire's mind, bringing up the questions he had been avoiding every day for the past five years. What was he doing now? Where did he work? Was he seeing anybody? Was he married? Was he happy?   
What if they were to meet up? Grantaire dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. Too much had changed for something like that to happen. They weren’t the young schoolboys they’d once been. They were adults, with work and responsibilities and routine. They each had their place in the constantly evolving society around them. It was strange to think that they had once believed they could change it all.  
Only, Grantaire felt isolated. As though he was stuck in an unchanging cycle, while the entire world clambered onto a train and was swept away, leaving him behind on the deserted platform.   
He accepted his offered coffee and wrapped his fingers around it, desperately, searching for the warmth it would bring to his fingertips. He moved out of the way of other customers and stood, staring into the rain with a hard, level gaze.  
Grantaire wasn’t positive what he was supposed to be feeling, or how he was feeling at all. Alarmed, maybe. Surprised, yes. It had jolted him as though he’d been given an electric shock.  
What was his reaction supposed to be after having seen an old lover in line for the morning train?  
As memories filtered through his mind, he nudged them away and squared his shoulders. He knew now he would certainly be late. A deserted sigh fell from his lips and went unnoticed by everything except his own ears. Not a soul in the world could hear him amid the clatter and the voices surrounding him. In a weary, dismal voice, he murmured softly to himself, more than anyone, "we were in love." He took a deep breath. "What happened?"  
He could practically hear Enjolras' reply. "That's what we all thought back then."  
"But I didn't think," Grantaire whispered, "I knew."  
It was his best effort at goodbye. But heaven knew he was never good at those.   
With his shoulders squared and jaw set, he departed into the rain, already planning an excuse for his most likely impatient boss.


End file.
